Wherever tomorrow is
by deleriumofyou
Summary: One galaxy for the price of one man. It's a fair trade. Shepard introspective, death fic, ME3


for the record, i didn't really like any of the endings, so i tried to leave it ambiguous.

* * *

Shepard is aware that his left leg is dragging and can feel blood seep through the seams of his armor. His arm is useless at his side.

He drops his firearm when his vision sways and goes sideways for a moment. Vertigo nearly sets in before he blinks hard once, twice and coughs, feels his ribs protest and his lungs burn for it. The world is upright again and painful as ever.

_Make a choice_, said the Catalyst, small creature made of stardust and the broken spirits of a billions upon billions of people.

A choice. One of three.

Shepard is used to making and creating his own destiny. His own fate. Now it's _choose a color swatch. Choose the fabric you'd prefer your shirt be made out of_.

_Choose the course of destiny for all of the galaxy for forever, Shepard, of these choices I have laid out for you_, Shepard imagines the Catalyst saying.

It's a hell of a revelation to have at the end of your life, Shepard thinks as he limps to the Crucible – blinding and damning and brilliant. _Hell of a revelation to know that there are thing out there that aren't gods but act like it, and can get away with it. Hell of a way to find out that maybe there aren't any choices of yours. You only get to pick your favorite number_.

It's a sour feeling, a bitter taste that feels like cotton in his throat. Shepard doesn't want to think that choice is an illusion. He doesn't want to believe that all he is, all humanity is, that all his friends are – that everything in the galaxy and perhaps beyond – are only the machinations of ancient things that don't seem to completely comprehend why they do the things they do.

He was never very religious because the God that most of the people back home believed in never seemed to believe in them back much.

He can see it, in his mind's eye. Earth. A floating blue marble backlit with a night sky pricked with stars. He remembers being a kid on Earth, scrounging for food or scrambling for shelter in the slums and he remembers staring grubby-faced up into space, at the stars, at the nearby stations in the sky.

He remembers promising himself to travel to all the planets he could, to be more than a street rat. Then he was finally off Earth and he saw it from space. Shepard was never a poet – but seeing Earth and its blues and whites and greens – that was heaven. Seeing that in space from his ship was his faith and devotion.

Part of it was inspiration that served him well in the Blitz.

It still serves now.

Shepard can feel his body start to cool and knows the countdown has already started.

He drags his body, weighted down with time, burdens, responsibility, duty, and honor and a wide streak of heroism to the Crucible to stare up at it. He's made his decision. He already made it.

He reaches out and lets his mind wander for just a moment to all the people he met, all the people he lost, all the people he managed to keep despite the odds. He spares a moment for the lost – Ash who died proud and he toasted with her posthumously ("_I'm gonna fight hard and die proud Commander. Don't say sorry."_), Mordin who died righting a wrong that was never one or the other but driven by compassion ("_Fool's wish. Had to be me. Others might have gotten it wrong._"), Thane at the end of his life who died as he would have wanted instead of crippled by a disease ("_I'm trying to leave the galaxy a brighter place than I found it._").

But Shepard focuses on the living, all the people he kept alive. All of friends who'd become his family. The only family he would ever have. He didn't have children and he never would but all the same, Shepard bound all his hopes and dreams in them with confidence that his family would see them to fruition. They would make mistakes, but they would be good mistakes, and they'd make the right decisions.

_Damn. Still would like to see what the galaxy will be like, after_. Shepard looked up into the Crucible and gripped it, feeling his control over his motor skills slackening. All his decisions – curing the genophage, saving the Rachni queen, helping the geth reform the heretics, bringing Kepral's to the forefront as a disease, getting rid of Cerberus…

He isn't going to see where it all goes. Not all of it. Only pieces. _Guess that's going to be my life mystery. Finding out how it all goes down in the end. Huh. Not bad, as far as deaths go, I guess_.

The Crucible burns and he lets go for a moment but hangs on.

Shepard closes his eyes, feels his body start to shut down and pictures a big blue marble. He can remember the wonder of a kid right out of boot camp, glued to the window just staring at it. Can still feel the devotion and loyalty and love bubble over until it imprints on his person for life.

_This better be the end_, he thinks, _or I'm quitting_. He almost smiles at the next thought. _Bright side of going out like this, no one can get to my body again. And I think I've got some R and R coming my way. Maybe go look at seashells with Mordin, or wait at the sea with Thane for everyone else one day, or tell Ash how damn proud of her I was. Anything but being brought back again. I'm damn tired_.

The world explodes, ending violently and uses Shepard to remake itself.

_About time_.


End file.
